


Frisk Me

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Handcuffs, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a cop, in hot pursuit of a murderer, and guess who crosses your path? Dean x Reader one shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frisk Me

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline pouring through your system as you move down the alley, eyes scanning every shadow. Your service revolver is aimed and ready, sweeping back and forth carefully, following your line of sight. You reach the corner of the building, pressing yourself up against the brick, cold seeping through your uniform, your breath fogging a little in the chilly spring air.

You look quickly, pull back, and then look again. Nothing. So you begin to move just as carefully forward. He came this direction - you and your partner split to cover more ground, and now your every nerve is on high alert. The door near you, back exit to a restaurant, opens, and all you see is the size of the guy. He's big, broad shoulders, tall… could be him. "Police - freeze!" you shout, and he does.

His head tilts back as he raises his chin a little, then turns his head to the side, trying to see you. "Officer, take it easy." His voice is cautious, and he knows enough not to move.

"Hands on the wall, now," you order brusquely, and he slowly complies. No arguments, nothing, like he's used to this. You hold the gun on him, putting the cuffs on one wrist and bringing it down behind his back, then reaching for the other and locking him down. He starts to move a little, and you shove him roughly against the wall, your forearm on his back, the gun to his head. "Don't move." You begin to run your hand over him, down his sides, kicking his foot out a little to spread his legs. Your hand slides down the outside of his thighs, then up the inside, feeling for hidden weapons, then around and over his pockets.

"You know, I usually don't get this friendly unless you at least buy me a beer," he quips, and you shove at him again, eliciting a little grunt from him.

"You think this is funny? I saw what you did to her. If that's what buying you a beer gets me, I'll pass."

He tries once again, without success, to crane his neck, get a look at you. "Who? I don't know what you're talking about, officer. I think you've got the wrong guy."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" You push the button on the radio clipped to your shoulder, turning your head slightly to talk to your partner. "Mike, I got a guy cuffed back behind Patty's. You heading this way?"

"No, I got him. Repeat, I got the perp. Blood all over him, this is the guy."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Cagney, I'm sure. Get his story, and if it checks out, let him go."

You sigh at Mike's stupid nickname for you and back off a step. "Turn around, please."

"Oh, now I get a 'please,' he snarks, then turns to face you as you pull your flashlight from your belt. You shine it over his clothing – no trace of blood, or anything out of place – and then up to his face.

"How long were you in Patty's?"

"I've been in there for about an hour."

"Let's go check that out, shall we?" you say, and he rolls his eyes, you can tell even in the dim light, before he turns and allows you to herd him back into the door and down the hall. "Patty," you say softly, motioning for the owner, who is sitting at the counter drinking coffee, to join you. He hauls his butt off the stool and lumbers your direction, scratching at his chest and yawning. "This guy been in here the last hour or so?" you ask softly, not wanting to alarm Patty's customers.

"Yeah. Just left a couple of minutes ago. What'd he do?" he asks, rubbing his white-whiskered chin.

"Just verifying his story. Looks like he checks out. Thanks, Patty."

You turn to face your prisoner, your eyes at the level of his upper chest, and raise them up to look into his face. Holy shit. He's fucking gorgeous. His green eyes stare back at you, his tongue sweeping over the inside of his cheek as his lips press together in annoyance, one eyebrow lifted disdainfully. "So, you gonna let me out of these things?"

You nod, speechless for the moment, and he turns his back to you. You unlock the cuffs, removing them and tucking them back into your belt. "Sorry, sir. There was a pretty brutal murder one block over, and the guy we were after headed this direction. I had to be sure."

He nodded, turning back towards you. "Yeah, I get that. Glad you got the asshole." His eyes flick over your face, then slide down your body and back up, so fast you aren't sure it happened. "Am I free to go?"

"Yeah. Yes. Sorry about the trouble."

A slight smirk curves his lips, and you feel your breath hitch. He turns and walks out the door, and you find yourself marveling at how his shoulders almost fill the opening as he leaves.

A couple of hours later, you're leaving the station in your civilian jeans, t-shirt and denim jacket. You climb into the car and head for Rhode's – you need a drink after the day you've had. You walk in, grabbing a stool at the bar, glad the place is practically empty. You hold up two fingers to the bartender, and when he brings you a double of your usual whiskey, you say, "Keep 'em comin'."

"Think that's a good idea, officer? Not planning on driving home after that, are you?"

"No offense, but that's none of your damn business," you fire back, then turn to see who's speaking, and you feel heat flood your face. "Oh. I – uh – oh."

Those green eyes sparkle with a little mischief as he flashes a half-smile. "I think you still owe me a beer," he says, a teasing note in his voice, and you motion for the bartender.

* * *

It's after midnight when you half-stumble into your living room, giggling a little as he follows you in and closes the door. "Thanks for the ride, Dean," you say, turning to face him, placing a finger in the middle of his chest and putting on a stern face. "But you shouldn't have been driving either, mister."

"I was drinking beer, not whiskey. And I stopped a while ago."

"You want a drink? Or some coffee? Or pizza?" You're rambling, a little nervous, and the thought goes through your mind that you should be perfectly relaxed with all the alcohol you consumed. But his presence is so intense that you still feel a little overwhelmed.

You turn from where you were gesturing towards the kitchen, and he's… Right. There. His lips are parted, his eyes narrow a little, predatory, as his tongue flicks out over his bottom lip. He's closing in on you, and you feel yourself sway a little as his arm comes around your waist, pulling you in as his lips capture yours. God, his are soft, and full, and demanding, and you relax against him, meeting the thrust of his tongue with your own, a deep-seated groan of pure want sounding from deep in your throat.

He's pulling at your jacket with his free hand, and you strip it off, never breaking your kiss. He's sucking lightly at your tongue as he pulls back, his eyes dark, gleaming with a hint of danger that sends a thrill up your spine. "Bedroom?" he whispers roughly, dropping his own jacket and button-down to the floor. You stare, mouth open, at his biceps, the solid strength in his forearms, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

You hold out your hand, and he takes it as you lead him down the hall and into your room. It's a little cluttered, clothes scattered here and there and over the chair in the corner, but you don't really care. You turn to step back into his arms, but he narrows his eyes and grins. "Oh, no, sweetheart. You owe me. And I'm getting payback." He takes a step back, folding his arms, and you swallow, hard, staring at him standing there like that, the wide stance, t-shirt sleeves tight over those bulging arms.

"Whaa…?"

"Hands on the wall. Now." Your eyes widen, and a sudden throbbing ache between your thighs makes you clench your legs together. He lowers his chin a little, menacing, and you turn to obey, putting your hands up high on the wall. You feel him behind you, heat emanating from his body, and he bends closer to growl softly in your ear, "Good girl." An actual whimper escapes your lips, you can feel your panties getting more damp by the second, and then he closes the handcuff around your wrist. Instinctively you start to move, but his body traps you against the wall, and you can feel his erection pressing into your lower back. "You say the word, and I'll stop," he whispers, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. There's no sound for several seconds but heavy breathing from both of you, and then you finally manage to whisper a reply.

"Don't stop."

"That's my good girl," he says, kissing his way down your neck, biting at your shoulder. "Don't move." He moves back just far enough to grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. His fingers glide smoothly from your shoulders down to the middle of your back, and then he's pulling your bra from you as well before pressing you back against the wall, your nipples hardening against the cool painted surface. He takes your wrist and brings it down behind your back, then pulls the other arm down to join it, closing the cuffs.

"Now, let's see, what came next? You're the officer, what's the procedure, sweetheart?"

"Frisk me," you whisper, barely able to breathe, your legs quaking a little at the intensity of your arousal.

"What? I'm sorry, baby, I couldn't hear you." His finger is trailing down the center of your back, and you shiver.

"Frisk me!" you say, louder this time, and a low, dark chuckle vibrates against your skin as his lips ghost over your shoulder.

He moves his hands to your shoulders, lets them glide down your arms, then to your waist. He pulls you away from the wall, then his fingertips make their way around to your belly, then up, slowly, until they brush over your sensitive nipples, and you jerk a little at his touch. "Well, these seem a little dangerous, sweetheart." He cups your breasts in his warm hands, kneading the soft flesh as he moans a little, then circles the nipples with a finger before plucking at them, making your knees give a little.

"Easy there, we're not done," he growls, pressing you back against the wall and letting his hands slide slowly down your sides. With one foot, he nudges your feet farther apart, and then he's running his palms down the outside of your thighs, coming around behind your knees, and moving up the inside of your thighs until he reaches the apex, cupping you through your jeans. You cry out softly, pressing against him, and you feel his breath on your skin before he nips at your neck. "Feels like you're packing some heat, officer. I think these are gonna have to come off. We may have to do a cavity search."

He reaches around and unfastens your jeans, pushing his hand inside, unable to suppress the groan in his chest as he feels how wet you are. He pulls your panties and jeans down together, hunkering down behind you to lift each foot, removing your boots and socks before pulling the garments off, leaning in to kiss and nip at your lower back before standing back up. He feels huge behind you, towering over you, overpowering, and you shudder lightly, anticipation sending your heart rate soaring. He pushes your feet farther apart, and then you feel two thick fingers glide through your folds, barely grazing your clit, then penetrating you slowly.

You let out a wavering cry, clenching around his fingers, and he pumps them, tortuously slow, crooking them just right until he finds what he's seeking and you almost see stars. He's relentless, brushing hard against that spot, and then reaching around you with his other hand, capturing your clit between two fingers and squeezing gently as he rubs it, hard, and you shout wordlessly as your body quakes with your orgasm. Dean is rutting against your ass now, breathing hard, easing you down from your high and pulling his fingers from you, one hand braced on your waist to prevent you from collapsing.

When you stop shaking, he carefully removes his hand from you and strips down. You hear the sound of a condom wrapper, hear him exhaling harshly as he rolls it over his length, and then he's nudging between your legs, pumping slowly, kissing over your neck and your upper back. "Guess you're not packin'. Lucky for you, I am."

He turns you to face him, and he bends to kiss you, hard, his hand at the back of your neck, holding you steady. He moans as you nip at his lip, then turns to grab the upholstered bench at the foot of your bed, sweeping the items there to the floor with his arm. He straddles the bench and lifts you, spreading your legs wide on top of his hard-muscled thighs, guiding his rigid cock into you, sheathing himself in your velvety heat with a grunt.

He holds you with an iron grip at the small of your back, bucking up into you as he puts the other hand behind your neck and leans you back to give himself access to your breasts.

He swirls his tongue around and over a nipple, and as he sucks it into his mouth, you thrust against him, small begging noises being forced from you with every movement. He is buried in you deep, and the feeling is exquisite, your legs resting on top of his, leaving you open and sensitive to every tiny slide and grind of your bodies together. He finally leaves your breast, bringing you back close and kissing you, fierce and demanding, before he moves his hand behind him on the bench. He braces his feet on the floor and fucks up into you with such force that you can't breathe for a moment, the sensations washing over and through you are so overwhelming.

You want to touch him so badly, but your hands are still cuffed behind you, so you are at his mercy, and he has none. You scream his name as he drives into you relentlessly, forcing an intense orgasm from you that blanks your vision and violently clenches every muscle in your body, and he growls, "Fuck!" as you contract around him, your release flooding over him. You can feel every bit of him inside you, the way he swells and throbs as he comes, and another wave hits you as he swears and groans, both of you too sensitive now but unable, unwilling to stop.

You are weak and shaking, sagging against him, his arms surrounding you, his hands caressing your back gently. Your bodies are slick and damp with sweat as you cling to each other, fighting for breath, hearts still pounding, every twitch and spasm forcing moans from you both. You shiver violently as your body cools, and he hugs you to him for a moment, then raises his head and bends to kiss you, soft and gentle, before lifting you from him with a low groan. He leads you to the side of the bed, seating you at the edge, heading for the bathroom, and you hear water running.

He's back in only a moment with a warm washcloth, but first he grabs his jeans from the floor and retrieves the handcuff key from his pocket. He unlocks the cuffs, bringing your hands around in front of you and rubbing your wrists, bending to kiss them softly. "You okay?" he asks, and you give him a wan smile, nodding sleepily. He lays you back on the bed, then gently cleans you, and you are drifting off already as he leaves for a moment again.

He crawls in beside you, covering you both, pulling you close. You sigh contentedly against his chest, the comforting strength of his arms surrounding you, and he drops small kisses in your hair, on your forehead. "You want me to leave?" he asks softly, and you shake your head, your arm tightening around his waist. "Good," he whispers, holding you close as you drift off.

Your alarm goes off, and you move to stop it, but there are arms wrapped around you, and you are reluctant to move at first. "Dean. Hey, I have to get up," you say softly as he mumbles grumpily. You smile and drop a kiss to his chest, sitting up to reach for the alarm. His arms pull you back down, hands caressing your skin, and you lean your head back to kiss him - who cares about the last-night-drinking-and-morning-after breath? He lets out a sigh, and you lift your head reluctantly. "I've gotta go to work. Tons of paperwork to do after that mess yesterday. I'm sorry," you say as he shoots you a disappointed little boy look.

You head for the shower, and when you come out, he's gone. There's a note on your pillow, and you smile as you reach for it, reading his scrawled words. "I have to go, too – but next time I'm back in town, you'll know it. I'll be the one speeding up and down Main Street in the black '67 Impala until they send you to stop me. Stay safe. Dean."


End file.
